MY LADY DREAMS 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 



By EUGENE PILLOT 



MY LADY DREAMS 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 



By EUGENE PILLOT 









Characters 

The Lady 

Marie, Her Maid 

Little Old Lady 

The Other Woman 

The Two Adorable Children 



COPTBIQHT, 1922, BY EUQENE PiLLOT. 

All rights reserved. 

No performance of this play, either amateur or professional, may be given without special 
arrangement with the author's representative, Mr. Norman Lee Swartout, Summit, N. J. 

©CU683540 



SEP 25 1922 



xV»t> 



MY LADY DREAMS 

When the curtain rises we see a lady's boudoir, done in the 
luxurious manner of Louis Seize, soft pinks, white and gold. 
There is a fireplace on one side of the room, before it, but some- 
what upstage is a chaise tongue piled high with cushions at 
its rear end. On the same side of the room is a door opening 
into the adjoining bedroom. On the opposite side of the room 
is a door leading to an outer hallway. To the rear of this door 
is a tall wardrobe with doors. At rear center is a dressing 
table, a long mirror and lights that send a glow down the middle 
of the roomy the rest somewhat in shadow. 

Before the mirror sits the Lady, a magnificent, queenly 
woman in an exquisite negligee. Behind her stands Marie, 
her maid, a trim little person in black dress and white apron 
and cap. She is putting the finishing touches to the Lady's 
hair; and now takes a step back to survey her work and to be 
sure that all is well. 

THE LADY {appraising the work in the mirror). I don't think 
I would do a bit more to it, Marie. 

MARIE. No? 

LADY. No, I doubt if you have ever dressed my hair quite 

so becomingly as to-night. 
MARIE. Thank you, my Lady. 
LADY. And to-night — of all nights, Marie — I must 

heighten my most telling points. For to-night I start 

anew on conquest. 
MARIE. My Lady means — Lord Varone — you are not 

going to — ? 
LADY {determined, almost forcing the words). Yes, I have 

decided not to marry Lord Varone. 
MARIE. I'm — sorry. 

LADY {defiantly). Why should you be sorry? 
MARIE. Oh, because Lord Varone seems so — kind. 



370 MY LADY DREAMS 

LADY. Kind? 

[Her voice is very hard at this moment. 

MARIE. Yes. When he stands near you so tall and straight 
— just like a fine young tree in the forest — and he speaks 
to you soft and gentle-like — he always makes me think 
I hear music in a church. And when he looks at you, my 
Lady! Oh, Madonna! In his eyes are a million stars 
that say he loves you, he loves you! Madonna, how can 
any woman turn down a man that looks at her like that? 

LADY. Lord Varone is a very selfish man, Marie. 

MARIE. Ah, no, not with those eyes. 

LADY. Yes, he wants me to do many things — should we 
marry — that my free spirit would never permit. 

MARIE (persuasively). But for such a nice man — 

LADY. For no man will I chain myself to the banalities of 
a household! \^Tiat would become of my career, if I did? 
I have paid with my life blood to build myself up to where 
I am. I have only to whisper that I have an idea for a 
story or a novel or a play, and all the editors in the land 
will risk their lives in the scramble to outbid each other 
for it, even before I have put the first word on paper. 
That means power. To-day I am a famous writer, world 
renowned, almost a great literateur. If I marry Lord 
Varone and fall in with his old-fashioned ideas, in six 
months I shall have lost my power in the literary world. 
I would be domestic. 

MARIE. Would Lord Varone want you to be so? 

LADY. If one marries, lives in the country, superintends 
a country household, and has children — and Lord Varone 
is set upon that point — well — ! 

MARIE. But what does it matter, if you love him, my Lady? 

LADY. I will not let my love for him bring domesticity upon 
me. That is why I am giving him up! 

MARIE. With all those stars in his eyes — 

LADY. Don't remind me of his good points, Marie! I 
don't want to give him up! {Half -dreamily, as she gazes 
at his photograph) If I could only let myself love him as 



MY LADY DREAMS 371 



much as I know I love him — ah, Vone, why must you be 
so wonderful? You must have been a Venetian prince 
in the olden times. It's torture to think of you — I want 
you so! But I won't have you, no I wont! (Pushes the 
photograph aside) Get out my dress, Marie, hurry up! 
MARIE. Something for the dance? 

LADY. No, I refused to go to the Ambassadors' Ball with 
Lord Varone. It's the opera — I'm going with the 
Randalls. She will probably wear black. I'd better 
wear a contrast. 

MARIE (at the wardrobe). The white metal cloth? 

LADY. No, no — too much like a virgin being crucified. 

MARIE. The rose or red- violet? 

LADY. Bring the new green — that's good for my mood. 
Green is adaptabihty, spring, eternal life, or something. 
Yes, that's it. Let's have it quickly. (She has slipped 
out of the negligee and Marie now slips the green gown on 
her — a superb creation in tones of green, brilliant as the 
river Nile when the spring sunlight picks out its lighter notes 
and sends them vibrating everywhere) I always feel like 
Cleopatra in green. I wonder if she wore it. It seems 
to help one to control, to dominate. And Cleopatra was 
so successful in love. She knew how not to love. 

MARIE. My Lady looks like a queen. 

LADY {gaily). The queen who will not let herself love! 
[In the hallway a bell rings. 

MARIE. The front door-bell. All the servants are off to- 
night. I'd better answer. 

LADY. Yes, you'd better, Marie. It might be important. 

MARIE. I will be gone only a minute. 

LADY. Very well. {As Marie hurries out, the Lady resumes 
her seat before the dressing table. Musingly) Suppose it is 
Vone? Suppose he wouldn't take "no" for an answer? 
Suppose he came anyway? 

[As though in answer to her query, both doors of the wardrobe 
fly open and a strange little old lady steps out. She might 
almost be one of Barriers little old ladies come to life, so 



372 MY LADY DREAMS 

jyinched and quaint and human she is in her gay shawl and 

poke bonnet with the wiggly rose on it. She walks with a 

limp and carries a cane to help her. 
LITTLE OLD LADY (pertly y yet sweetly). Well, wouldn't you 

have him, my dearie? 
LADY. What? Did somebody speak? 
LITTLE OLD LADY (coming forward so that the Lady sees her). 

Well, my voice is cracked — most as much as a Sunday 

cup and saucer I saw once — but still I'd call it speaking, 

dearie. 
Lady (in her very grandest manner). Who are you? 
LITTLE OLD LADY (simply). Oh, uobody much. 
LADY. How did you get in here? Was it you who rang the 

bell? Did Marie let you in? 
LITTLE OLD LADY. Ah, uo. I ucvcr havc to be let in. I just 

come; and frequently when I am least expected. I never 

know when it is going to be, but I'm always there on time. 
LADY. How absurd! You must be insane! 
LITTLE OLD LADY. Not uulcss you are, dearie! 
LADY. Do you mean to insinuate — ? 
LITTLE OLD LADY. Not in that Way, my pretty. 
LADY (losing her patience). Well, I want to know — what are 

you doing here, in my house? 
LITTLE OLD LADY. I had to comc. You Called me. 
LADY (aghast). I called you? 
LITTLE OLD LADY. And I always come when I'm called, 

double-quick. 
LADY. Absurd! 
LITTLE OLD LADY. No, uo, uot at all. Just remember back 

for a moment, if you will, dearie. 
LADY. Please don't call me "dearie." It's a little familiar 

— and cheap. 
LITTLE OLD LADY. Oh, uo, uot chcap. "Dearie" 's not 

cheap, when there's feeling in the heart behind the word. 

Anyway, before you heard my wee, pert, cracked cup- 

and-saucer voice, weren't you sitting there, sort of dream- 

ing-like? 



MY LADY DREAMS 373 

LADY (not willing to commit herself). Perhaps I was. 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Then that's why I'm here. 

LADY. What do you mean? 

LITTLE OLD LADY. I'm part of your dreaming, dearie. 

LADY. W-h-a-t! ! 

LITTLE OLD LADY. I'm just a memory that comes to you in 
your dreams. 

LADY. Impossible! I never saw you before. 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Oh, yes, you have! 

LADY. Absurd! People don't dream of what they've never 
known. I'm modern enough to know that. Absurd! 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Not at all, uot at all. You've seen the 
likes of me in the old woman huddled by the lamp-post at 
the street corner, selling the evening papers. Oh, many 
times you've seen me there. And once you saw me in the 
eyes of a scrubwoman that you happened to notice on the 
floor of an office building, when you went there one morning 
at an odd hour. Oh, don't be afraid, I'll not tell why 
you went there. It was the human thing to do, all right. 
And another time you saw me in the tired little gray lady 
in the street car. Don't you remember she forgot herself 
and smiled at you? 

LADY {impulsively, half -musingly) . I have always wondered 
why she did that? 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Only bccausc you were young and pretty, 
bonny as a wild rose in a desert of scraggly faces. 

LADY {pleased). 0-oh. 

LITTLE OLD LADY. You do remember now? 

LADY. But how can you be the scrubwoman, the paper lady, 
and the tired little gray lady? 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Oh, I'm uot really any of them I'm 
just the ghost of many, many pinched little old ladies that 
one sees about a great city. All of their thin, wavery 
shadows are in my soul. But in my eyes they make for 
you a lady that you do know. Look a wee bit, look in 
my eyes and see if you don't know the lady there, look. 
[She leans forward for the Lady to see. 



374 MY LADY DREAMS 

LADY {surprised at what she sees). But you can't be — her? 

LITTLE OLD LADY (proudly) . Ah, ycs I am ! I am Lord 
Varone's mother. His very own mother! 

LADY. But she is a very grand lady, tall, proud, magnificent ! 

LITTLE OLD LADY. She is all of that to the world, I grant 
you. 

LADY. While you — you're not in the least like her — ex- 
cept the eyes — 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Ah! 

LADY. Why, you're even so lame you have to carry a cane! 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Do you think I mind that? Not for a 
moment! I'll tell you how it was. When I was still 
almost young and my boy — Lord Varone — was just 
starting his career in the world, I humbled my pride, 
I broke it in fact, to give him a chance that he had to have. 
It left me lame, that's why I carry a cane. 

LADY. But Lord Varone's mother does not carry a cane. 
She's tall and straight and walks superbly. 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Ah, many a fine-walking lady has a limp 
in her soul, because of helping somebody that needed her. 
But do you imagine even one of the grand ladies cares a 
mite, if she has to carry a prop somewhere inside her? I 
don't think so. It only makes them walk straighter when 
they go into the world, and hold their heads high as horses 
with a checkrein. \ 

LADY. I never thought of that. 

LITTLE OLD LADY. How could you, my dearie? Have you 
ever given up anything that you cherished heart-close? 

LADY. Have you come here to insult me? 

LITTLE OLD LADY {vcry kindly). Hardly. Varone's mother's 
eyes would not do that. 

LADY. Then why — ? 

LITTLE OLD LADY (hesitant, foT she is not sure of her ground), 
I have come to ask you — 

LADY. What? 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Plcase marry him. 

LADY. I'm sorry — I can't. 



MY LADY DREAMS 375 

LITTLE OLD LADY. He won't make you lose your freedom. 

LADY. How did you know it was that.^^ 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Ah, motliers know so many things that 
other people never suspect. 

LADY. And at heart — mothers don't usually want their 
attractive sons to marry. They want to keep them for 
themselves. 

LITTLE OLD LADY. That's Only when they fear the girl. 

LADY. And you don't fear me? 

LITTLE OLD LADY. No One cau rouud out Varone's life for 
him as you can. 

LADY. Indeed ! 

LITTLE OLD LADY. You Can help him finish the career that 
I started for him. 

LADY (indignant). So thafs the idea! You want me to 
marry him because I possess qualities that will accom- 
plish things for him! I'm to be a tool to polish the rough 
edges of his career. You must think I am a fool ! 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Oh, nO. 

LADY. And what would become of my own career in the 
meantime? 

LITTLE OLD LADY. You would not losc. Your career would 
grow richer, along with his. 

LADY. I doubt it. 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Your wholc life would become a sounding 
board of creation. Think of that, my dearie. You 
would be a harp of life, singing love to the winds of 
spring. 

LADY. I can't believe it. 

LITTLE OLD LADY. Dou't Say that. I want you to marry 
my boy. He loves you, you love him. That should be 
enough. 

LADY. Unfortunately, the world makes one take other 
things into consideration in a marriage these days. 

LITTLE OLD LADY (flaring). And that's why the whole 
world is going smash ! Nobody will do anything for any- 
body, unless they get something for it, beforehand if 



376 MY LADY DREAMS 

possible. Don't break with Varone! You will hurt 

yourself the most. 
LADY. Stop saying things like that to me! I won't listen! 

[The Lady turns away and sits in chair by the mirror, 

pouting, 
LITTLE OLD LADY. You know that what I say is true. 
LADY (defiantly). I don't care. 
LITTLE OLD LADY. It isn't oftcu that a mother proposes for 

a daughter; but you will marry Varone, won't you? 
LADY (in a rage). No, no, no! I will not marry him, I will 

not! 
LITTLE OLD LADY (edging apologetically toward the hall door). 

I shall be hoping so — anyway — dearie — 

[Blows her a ghost of a kiss, and is gone. 

The Lady sits musing by the mirror. 

Like a flame from the fire, the Other Woman rises from the 

fireplace. She is a pulsating, vital creature in a gown as 

glowing as the flames themselves. As she steps out into the 

room, the Lady looks up and sees her. 
LADY (again in her grand manner). And pray, who are you? 
OTHER WOMAN. I am the Other Woman in his life. 
LADY. The Other Woman? Is there another woman in 

Varone's life? 
OTHER WOMAN. There is always the Other Woman in every 

man's life. He may not have met her yet, but she is 

always there; and usually she is pretty bad. 
LADY. Are you? 
OTHER WOMAN. I am oue of the worst. I have all of the 

lures, all of the charms that most women know, but few 

dare to use — unless they are scarlet, as I am. 
LADY. You seem to glory in your — color. 
OTHER WOMAN. Why shouldn't I? Poppies and flame roses 

do not hang their heads in shame because nature gave 

them the color of blood. 
LADY. How dare you come here? 
OTHER WOMAN. You invitcd me. 
LADY (aghast). I? 



MY LADY DREAMS 377 

OTHER WOMAN. You Started to wonder about me, after his 
mother had gone, and to dream about me, then I came. 

LADY. The insolence! 

OTHER WOMAN. Oh, no ! Oh, no! Why shouldn't I come? 
Aren't we really — sisters.'^ 

LADY. Sisters.^ 

OTHER WOMAN. You are pure and gain your ends with guile 
and in obscure ways. While I — am what people know 
I am. I take the direct road and gain my ends openly. 
I am elemental, without fear, vital. No man on earth can 
resist me! 

LADY. I am sure my Varone would never look at you. 

OTHER WOMAN. Ha, you have the false security of a virgin 
— one of those over-saintly, milk-white ones. 

LADY. I would have you understand that my emotions are 
not milk-white. 

OTHER WOMAN. Perhaps not, but your conventions are. 
You are just the kind that is easiest for me to rob of your 
men. 

LADY. What makes you think that? 

OTHER WOMAN. Becausc I know, 

LADY. Ha ! 

OTHER WOMAN. Ycs, it's my business to know. How do 
you suppose it is that women of my — shall we say, 
color — manage to have in their train so many of the most 
desirable men of a great city? Do you think those men 
come to us in preference to you? Ah, no! It is usually 
because women like you have placed themselves upon 
such freezing pedestals that the poor male things can't 
ever come to a companionable understanding with your 
kind. You think so well of yourselves that you carelessly 
discard your men, as one would cards in a game of chance. 
Then is when we catch them — when their hearts are 
bruised, crying for sympathy. Then is when we score. 
We give them everything — and hold them ! 

LADY. That may apply to the men you know. Not to 
Varone. 



378 MY LADY DREAMS 

OTHER WOMAN. How little you know of life, you who depict 
it with a pencil and a typewriter! No wonder magazine 
stories are so stupidly done to those who know life. Those 
stories are written by and for people who know nothing 
of life. Well, let me tell you something — for every man 
like Varone there is always some scarlet woman waiting 
around the corner. And he will be easiest to get just after 
you turn him down. 

LADY (suspiciously) . May I ask — do you know Lord 
Varone — now? 

OTHER WOMAN. No, and I don't even know what he looks 
like. 

LADY. Then why are you so concerned about him? 

OTHER WOMAN (ivith great sincerity). I want to save him. 

LADY. Save him? From what? 

OTHER WOMAN. From me — or from women like me That 
is why I came here — to beg you not to throw him over. 
He is pure gold. Can't you see that? 

LADY. Of course. I would be blind, if I did not. But I 
have a career to think of. Marriage to any man I loved 
would send it up in smoke. I shall marry some one for 
whom I care nothing. That's what I shall do. Then I 
shall be safe. 

OTHER WOMAN. And Varoue — what will become of him? 

LADY. I shall break with him gently, slowly, so that he will 
not realize what is happening till it is all over. By that 
time it will be too late for you to get him. He will be 
reconciled to his fate. 

OTHER WOMAN. You are willing to take a greater risk than 
I would. Don't do it. I want you to have Varone. You 
are so worthy of him. Please take him. 

LADY. No ! I will not be moved by your mawkish sentimen- 
tality. 

OTHER WOMAN. Remember — if you don't take him, I 
will. 

LADY. You cannot move me with such a bluff. 

OTHER WOMAN. Very well. I gave you the first chance at 



MY LADY DREAMS ^79 

him. Now I'll take him. And how I shall laugh, and 
laugh, and laugh at you both — when I crush him — so 
that he can never rise again ! Ha, ha, ha, h-a-a- ! 
[With a wild laugh, like a dart of flame, she is gone. 
The Lady stands nonplussed. 

LADY. I wonder if she is right? Could a woman like that 
get him? I wonder — 

[But her musing is broken by a strange, unexpected happen- 
ing. There is a gay ripple of childish laughter, the pillows 
on the chaise longue are hurled to the four corners of the room, 
and the Two Adorable Children leap out, — one from behind 
the cushions, the other from under the chaise. They are both 
girls, one blonde, the other brunette, at least eight or nine years 
old, though they might be almost any age, since they are the 
rare type that have caught in their hearts the universal spirit 
of childhood. They have not started to be young ladies in their 
cradles ; in fact, when they have really and truly grown up 
to the age when one is considered a young lady, they may 
forget themselves sometimes and bubble forth with some de- 
lightfully impulsive remark. Perhaps they are distant 
cousins of Peter Pan, and will never quite grow up. I dont 
know. But I hope they wont, for as they now leap from their 
hiding places, I want them to remain Adorables forever. 
The Adorable Blonde is in a fluffy dancing frock, simulating 
a great pink rose, but the Adorable Brunette is in a boy's 
costume of pink, with her hair well tucked under a boyish 
cap. 

BLONDE {happily). There she is, there! 

BRUNETTE Ha, ha! {Clap hands) You didn't know we 
were here, did you? 

BLONDE {as they both rush to the Lady). Say you didn't 
know, say you didn't! 

BRUNETTE. Say it, say it ! 

LADY. You dear, adorable children! Of course I didn't 
know you were here. How could I? 

BLONDE {to Brunette). You see, I told you she wouldn't 
be thinking of us as anywhere at all! 



380 MY LADY DREAMS 

LADY. But I must say — I don't understand. What is it all 

about? 

[In a rush. 
BRUNETTE. Well, you see — 
BLONDE. No, let me tell! It was my idea! 
BRUNETTE. But I diditl Let me tell her ! 
BLONDE. No, me, me, me! 
LADY (very kindly, for with the advent of the two Adorables she 

seems to have developed a wonderful gentleness that one would 

hardly have suspected she had anywhere about her). You 

must both tell me, but one at a time. You begin. 

[To Blonde. 
BLONDE. Well, we've just come from dancing school. And 

— and they had a fancy-dress ball there and — and we 

fooled everybody there, that is at Jlrstl 
LADY. How did you fool them? 
BRUNETTE. Oh, shc hasu't guessed yet! Goody, goody, 

goody! 
BLONDE. Ha, ha, ha ! We even fooled you, even you! 
LADY. Yes, but how? How did you fool me? About 

what? 
BLONDE. Look! She isn't a boy at all! {Jerks cap off 

Brunette's head and her hair falls in a mass about her 

shoulders) Look ! 
BRUNETTE. I had a dress just like hers, but I wanted to be 

a boy just for once — to see how it felt — so after we got 

to the party, I changed clothes with Jimmie Smith. We 

had a terribly hard time — we had to do it behind Mrs. 

Smith's back. She's broad enough in the middle, but 

she doesn't always keep the middle still, you know. 
BLONDE. Especially when she laughs. 
BRUNETTE. Oh, ycs ! But Jimmie — you should have seen 

Jimmie in my dress ! He was too funny ! When he walks, 

his legs work in instead of out. Just like this. 

[Demonstrates Jimmie* s walk. 
BLONDE. But everybody thought she really was a boy. 
BRUNETTE. It was perfect ! 



MY LADY DREAMS 381 

BLONDE. Anyhow, she says she felt Hke a girl all the time 

just the same. 
BRUNETTE. Wasn't that queer.? 
LADY (drawing them to her, on the chaise) . You dear, adorable 

Adorables ! 
BRUNETTE. Well, aren't you going to undress us for bed.'^ 
LADY (surprised). I? 

BLONDE. We thought you would. We're awfully tired. 
BRUNETTE. And sleepy. 
LADY. I don't know whether I should. Whose children 

are you? 
BLONDE (disappointed). Oh, don't you know? 
BRUNETTE. Pshaw, you seemed so kind. We thought it 

was all decided. 
LADY. Decided? What are you talking about? 
BLONDE (with an air of apology). She's so inexperienced. I 

guess we'll have to tell her. 

BRUNETTE. I gUeSS SO. 

BLONDE. We're only the kiddies that come to you in your 

dream. 
BRUNETTE. And whcu your dream wakes up — poof, we are 

no more. 

[Blows. 
BLONDE. Unless you decide to want us really and truly. 
BRUNETTE (clamoriug over her). Oh, please want us, please, 

please, please! 
BLONDE (slyly). He wants us. 
LADY. Who? 
BLONDE. Vone ! 
LADY. Lord Varone — o-oh. 

[At last she understands. 
BRUNETTE. We know why you don't want us. You're 

afraid you won't be able to write any more, that's why. 
LADY. Perhaps it — is. 
BLONDE (gleefully). Oh, but you don't know how jolly you 

would write, if you had us ! We'd help you ! 
BRUNETTE. We'd cvcn let you write all about us! 



382 MY LADY DREAMS 

BLONDE. And for us ! 

BRUNETTE. Oh, ycs! 

LADY. You dears! 

[They are tantalizing fruity hut she still considers them for- 
bidden — to her, 

BLONDE. And they'd be the very best stories anybody ever 
wrote ! 

BRUNETTE. Eveu better than Black Sambo or Peter Rabbit ! 

BLONDE. And that's saying a good deal, let me tell you. 

BRUNETTE. Especially Peter — he's hard to beat. 

BLONDE. But hers would be better stories. Just think — 
we'd be in them! And often when she least expected it, 
there we'd be, saying something terribly clever right in the 
middle of her story! And people would read them with 
delight! For they would be just like life. 

BRUNETTE. Only heaps better! 

BLONDE. And lots more exciting! 

LADY {hugging them to her). You irresistible ones! 

BLONDE {struggling to free herself) . And — and we'd be lots 
more fun than that, even in the beginning. 

BRUNETTE. Oh, ycs! And all the time! 

BLONDE. In the beginning — when we are tiny tinies — 
we'd crow at you from out of pink and blue cradles, and 
catch at your arm just to see you smile at us. And maybe 
you'd stop and look at us for a moment, wondering if we 
understood that you loved us. 

BRUNETTE. Of coursc wc would Understand. All babies 
do, if their mothers only knew. 

BLONDE. Sure! And later there would be parties! And 
you would dance with us on the green ! Just like this — 
come, oh do! 

BRUNETTE. Oh, do daucc with us! 

[They catch the Lady's hands and pull her up. With a child 
on each side, she does a simple little dance with them, the 
three ending with an elaborate bow. The moment the dance is 
over, the children peck a quick kiss on her hands and dart 
toward the hall door. 



MY LADY DREAMS 383 

BOTH CHILDREN. Good-by, good-by! 

LADY. Where are you going.? 

BOTH CHILDREN. Away, away ! 

LADY. Why do you leave me, when I've begun to love you? 

BLONDE. You haven't decided to have us! 

BRUNETTE. We can't stay unless you decide! 

BLONDE. We can't, we can't ! 

BRUNETTE. Good-by, good-by! 

[The Lady seems stunned, so with gay laughter the two 
Adorables dash through the door and are — gone! 

LADY. No, oh, no ! Don't go ! I — {But the only response 
is the distant echo of childish glee, which dies away as sud- 
denly as it came) And I didn't get their names! How 
can I ever know them again without their names? I 
must know their names! Wait, wait! Where are you? 
Gone ! Really gone — 

[She sinks down on the chair before the mirror, in the position 
she had early in the scene. It is at this time that Marie 
hurries in. 

MARIE. I'm sorry to be so long, my Lady, but — 

LADY (startled). Marie! Are you in my dream too? 

MARIE. Your dream, my Lady? 

LADY {in a burst). Oh, never mind, don't try to understand 
— but did you see them? Which way did they go? 

MARIE. Which way did who go? 

LADY (almost beside herself). The children, the children! 
The Adorable Ones ! 

MARIE. I went to the front door, but no one was there. It 
was the telephone that rang. 

LADY. But didn't you see the children? Didn't you let 
them out the front way? 

MARIE (firmly). I let no one out of the house. And I saw 
no children. 

LADY. But they went that way! Why didn't I follow? 
Maybe I'm not dreaming now, after all. Marie, come 
here and pinch me. 

MARIE. Pinch you? Where? 



384 MY LADY DREAMS 

LADY. Anywhere. It doesn't matter where. If I feel it, 
then I know I'm awake. If I don't, then I am dreaming. 
Pinch, Marie, pinch ! {Marie pinches her on the arm. She 
winces) Ouch! That settles it ! At least I'm not dream- 
ing. 

MARIE. On the telephone was Lord Varone — 

LADY. Lord Varone? Why didn't you tell me before? 

MARIE. He is gone now. He did not ask to speak to you, 
but wanted me to give you a message — 

LADY. Yes, yes! 

MARIE. He said he would not disturb you, since you had 
given him a final answer for this evening, but in case you 
should desire to communicate with him on another matter, 
he is at the Lotus Club. 

LADY. Lotus Club? That's only in the next block! Quick, 
Marie, get into your street coat! I can't telephone such 
a thing. I'll send a note. Hurry Marie, hurry! 

MARIE. Yes, my Lady, yes ! 
[Marie flies out the room. 

LADY {she has already snatched up pen and paper and started 
to write the important note) . " Dear, dear Vone : {then as she 
pauses for a moment) Oh, if only the dream-ones were here 
to help me say it, so that it will mean the most — if 
only — 

[As if in answer to her desire, there appears in the doorway 
behind her the Little Old Lady, the Other Woman, and the 
Two Adorable Children. They speak in rapid succession: 
^'We are here to help you!'' ''Well always help you!** 
"We will, we will!'* 

LADY. It almost seems as though they were here. 

CHILDREN. We are! 

LADY {apparently not realizing their presence). Well, I'll say 
it the best way I can. 

LITTLE OLD LADY. That's it, dearie. He wouldn't want 
anything better. The best way you can, that's all, dearie. 

LADY {she has been writing rapidly during the above and con- 
tinues to do so as she speaks) . "And dear Vone, if you don't 



MY LADY DREAMS 385 

come and kidnap me the moment this reaches you — well, 
come, come, come! I'm dying to be with you in that dar- 
ling country house, and the children want you too — " 
oh, no, I mustn't say that! {She starts to scratch out the 
words, hut her impulse carries her on) Oh, never mind — 
"But most of all, I want you, Vone, you!'' 
[Hurriedly she seals the letter with a kiss, much to the delight 
of the little company behind her, who flurry away the moment 
her task is completed. 

CURTAIN 



